


Moments

by Zapino



Category: Troyler - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, Youtuber RPF, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person, Poetry, Short One Shot, Unspecified POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zapino/pseuds/Zapino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the moments I treasure; the moments I wish I could keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

These are the moments I treasure.

The moments I wish I could keep. To hold close, to hide away from harm, to safeguard. Secret. Sacred. When you make me yours and give yourself to me all at the same time. When time stops moving, when distractions are forgotten, when the pandemonium of life fades away into nothingness and you and I are all that exist. Our little haven of us.

When we are together like this, everything falls into place and settles. Aligns. Colors look brighter and sounds are sharper; tastes are tangible and smells are all-consuming. Up is up and down is down and everything is right with the world.

Skin. Endless plains of skin. It greets my fingertips as the softest thing I’ve ever felt; softer than the delicate petals of a rose. And rose is the flush that covers it. I let my lips dance over your skin wherever they can reach, letting their careful exploration speak for me, foolishly hoping that you will listen.

You melt beneath my touch and your easy surrender is enough to make me crow with joy. I would if you’d let me. There have been many times when I’ve come close to, but have caught myself at the last second, for an instant remembering my place and swallowing my unvoiced elation, letting it die on your lips instead.

Yet, in stark contrast to the death of my words, your kisses fill me with life. With light. They are all I need to be able to breathe again. They chase away the shadows and inspire a bubbly laughter from within me that I have learned to stave over time...

These are the moments I treasure.

When your hands burn a trail of fire across my skin and I carry the scars of their trespass with pride. Over time your hands have grown more sure, almost confident. They are becoming daring in their explorations, in their mapping of my body, and travel with less hesitancy than when we started this. Now, your fingers apply pressure and whisper across all the right places, nipping and stroking, harsh and gentle in turn. They observe and study, gauging my reactions, repeating the actions that bring about the responses they want. They make sure to always bring me pleasure and the knowledge warms me like nothing else - the knowledge that my enjoyment is of such importance to you.

You seem at ease, breathing a bit more freely, when we’re like this. You seem to soften, to relax. It’s as if you allow yourself to be who you used to be; the person I got to know over the years. It brings out the sides of you that I cherish most, the ones that remind me of carefree hours and days and months, when all that mattered was living, laughing, and loving in the here and now. Suddenly, it’s as if my unrelenting proximity forces you to remember your true self and just let things be as they should. Because it should be like this, always. Of that I am convinced.

They say that we would be perfect for each other. That the connection they see us share must be fate, that it must have been decided by powers beyond our comprehension and control. I, of course, already know this. I wonder if you know it too.

These are the moments I treasure.

More so now than ever before since the time in between has grown longer. I find myself waiting, longing, yearning for these moments to arrive. The wait is excruciating. I have realized that they will become even rarer with time and eventually come to an unapologetic halt… But realization doesn’t have to lead to acknowledgement, even if that would be the key to my survival once this ends. Because it has to end, you and I both know it, yet we stay silent. And maybe my survival won’t seem as important afterward.

We almost got caught once. We had hid away in what we thought was a locked restroom during a party for one of our mutual friends. I was in the process of swallowing one of your delicious moans when the door was suddenly ripped open and the sounds of the party outside jolted us both awake from our immersion in one another. You wrenched yourself back and in your haste to get away from me, to hide what we do, what we are, your wrist watch accidentally scraped painfully across my neck. I hissed under my breath, wincing yet trying to hide that anything was amiss while my hand covered the scratch. When I looked in the mirror later that night, there was a welt where you’d marked me, still red and swollen hours after. A few droplets of blood had dried along the edge of the minute cut, an almost invisible row of maroon pearls adorning my neck. Poetic, isn’t it? You ripping yourself away from me and drawing blood in the process, your unwillingness to be seen with me in that way causing me injury. But then again, it always does.

These are the moments I treasure.

When we fall together. Spiraling, spinning. Gripping and clutching to keep our balance even while we lose contact with earth, levitating above it. And my heart screams at yours, begging it, pleading with it to understand how much you mean to me. Like you always have and always will.

Many have been the occasions when I have wanted to tell everyone that you’re taken, that you belong to me. I want to scream it at the top of my lungs. ‘He’s mine! This beautiful man is just mine and no one else can have him!’ … You would never forgive me if I did. You blame a fear of ruining what we have, that letting the world know what we are to each other will be the beginning of our end. I still haven’t told you that your resistance has already pushed us well on our way there.

But I won’t. Not yet.

Not when you’re resting in my arms, breathing steadily, leaning on me for warmth, for a need to be close, for comfort. Perhaps even for security. That’s why I lean on you and I’m certain that you can tell. It doesn’t matter.

Because no matter how fleeting they are, these are the moments I treasure.

These are the moments when you are mine and I am yours and I allow myself to hope that someday you could love me too, like the fool that I know I am.

When the breaking of my heart isn’t so painful, when it is a dull ache easily ignored while I lay entangled with you.

When my soul can once more find rest in our little haven of us.

These are the moments I treasure.

The moments I wish I could keep.

-


End file.
